Fairness
by luvsanime02
Summary: Steve hates being looked at like he's weak, especially since he's really very much not.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Marvel comics or characters or movies, and am making no money off of this fic.

**AN: **Written for the October 12th Spooktober prompt: frail.

########

**Fairness **by luvsanime02

#########

Steve hates how other people look at him sometimes. He knows what they see - too skinny, too tired, too frail. They don't even notice Steve, really, just how pale his skin is and how hard he coughs, and they shy away while giving him pitying looks.

Sometimes, he wants to shout at them, to scream in their faces that he's not frail or weak. Steve will if he can get away with it. Or even if he can't. Despite how small he is, Steve's been in more fist fights than anyone else in his school, he's pretty sure.

It never stops the looks, though. If anything, it makes them even worse, because tiny Steve Rogers with a busted lip or a black eye looks like a victim.

Steve's not sick, though. Not really. And he's not frail. He's just stubborn. Too stubborn for his own good, sometimes. Most times.

When Steve's thirteen years old, some teenager who looks to be around his age spots him walking to school in the morning, blinks, and then clearly does a double-take before he blanches and quickly removes his coat.

"Are you insane?" the guy demands, throwing the coat over Steve's head and covering him from the sun.

It's nice, the darkness. Wonderful. Soothing.

There are hands on his shoulders, steering Steve somewhere else, and he lets the other guy manhandle him for now because he's curious. This guy's obviously smart. He's the first person who's taken a look at Steve's blotchy skin and pale, shaking hands and squinting eyes and known immediately what the problem is.

Well, likely not the whole problem, but he knows enough to understand that Steve's skin is burning from exposure to the sunlight.

They move to a more remote area, darker and completely in shadows, when the coat is abruptly yanked back off of Steve's head and a scowling face is right in front of Steve's. Even as a young teenager, it's an impressive scowl. Steve looks mulishly back at him.

"What is wrong with you?" the guy demands, hands actually resting on his hips. "The hell are you doing outside _during the day_, you loon?"

Steve shrugs, belligerent. "Getting some fresh air," he quips. "Don't you know? I'm all frail and stuff."

The guy snorts, loudly. "Like hell you are," he retorts. He seems to enjoy that word a lot. Hell. Steve finds it funny in a morbid kind of way. "You're suicidal, not weak. Why the hell are you repeatedly exposing yourself to the sun like a total moron?"

Steve's eyes narrow. That's enough of being called an idiot from this strange kid. Steve's not dumb, thanks. "I need to see the colors," he says bluntly.

Clearly, that is not the answer that this guy is expecting. Steve takes a sort of strange pride in baffling him. The guy then reaches up and pinches his nose between two fingers. He's really dramatic. "You need to see the colors," he repeats incredulously. "And you didn't think to, I don't know, _Google them_?"

Steve frowns even more deeply now, and crosses his arms over his chest. He's had this argument with his mom plenty of times. "It's not the same," he insists. And it really isn't. "I can't get all the shades right that way."

Another pause. "You're an artist," the guy says. It's not a question, but Steve nods, anyway.

After another few seconds of silence, the guy sighs, long and loud, like Steve is testing his patience. Steve feels proud of that reaction, too. "Alright," the guy says, pulling out his phone, "what's your name and number?"

"What?" Steve asks, being the one taken aback for once during this conversation. "Why would I tell you that?" Steve's mom will box his ears if Steve gives his real name out to a stranger. Names have power.

He gets an exasperated look in response. "So we can talk. I have to get to school."

"I have to get to school, too," Steve points out.

The guy makes a complicated face in response to that. "The hell you're going to school," he says, like he has any say in Steve's life. The nerve. "Go back home, you loon. I'll stop by after school, and we'll see if my phone's camera is good enough. If not, I'll borrow a camera from my mom, or something."

Steve's missed something. "Good enough for what?" he asks.

The guy rolls his eyes at Steve. "I'm going to take pictures every day," he explains. "Of anything you want. So you don't have to _walk around outside during the day_. Alright?"

Steve is… stunned. That's what this feeling is. He's absolutely floored that this strange teen is willing to do this for him. "Why would you do that?" he asks suspiciously. It's a fair question, in his opinion.

"Because you're burning yourself alive every day for some damn colors?" the guy half-questions, half-shouts in his face. Rude. Accurate, but rude.

"Your phone won't take good enough pictures," Steve says after a minute. He's seen similar models before, and they're good for some things, but the picture quality isn't as good as Steve needs. Steve's eyes are very sharp.

Another roll of the eyes, but then the guy nods. "Fine. I'll get a camera from somewhere. Now, what's your name?"

Steve doesn't even hesitate. Not because the guy's being so nice to him, but because he's the most interesting person Steve's ever met. He gives the guy his name and number, and learns that the guy's name is James, 'call me Bucky'.

Steve goes back home and takes a nap, and does feel loads better when he wakes up later, not that he'll admit that to anyone. He checks his phone and sees a text from Bucky wanting to know his address. Steve sends it to him, and then wonders how he's going to tell his mom about this. At least the blackout curtains everywhere around the house don't need to be explained, since Bucky will know they're for him. He just won't know that they're for Steve's mom, too.

Speaking of, her bedroom door opens only a few minutes before the front door bell rings. Steve hurries down the stairs before she can ask any questions, and he flings open the door. And then, just to be a shit, Steve steps aside and raises an eyebrow expectantly.

Except Bucky only gives Steve an impatient look. "Are you going to invite me inside, or not?" he demands.

He knows. Somehow, Bucky knows what Steve really is. He's clearly known this whole time. Steve's shoulders tense up. "How do you know?" he asks, voice harsh.

Bucky shrugs. "You smell like a vampire," he says casually, not bothering to tiptoe around the elephant in the room.

Steve bites his lower lip, knowing that his mom is now standing behind him. He doubts that she's happy. "What are you?" he asks. It's only fair, after all.

Bucky smirks. "Why don't you invite me in and find out?" he says boldly.

Steve's mom laughs, surprising him, and then reaches out a hand around Steve. "Come on in," she invites. "My name is Sarah."

Bucky takes her hand and crosses the threshold. Steve shuts the door behind him.

"Bucky Barnes, ma'am," he says, looking around slowly in interest. He pulls a camera out of his pocket and extends it to Steve. "Are these good enough?" he asks.

Steve… didn't actually expect Bucky to take any pictures. Especially not today. He grabs the camera carefully, and looks through the pictures, eventually nodding wordlessly.

His mom looks back and forth between them for a moment. "Are you telling me," she says slowly, "that you've convinced Steve not to walk around during the day anymore?"

Bucky nods. "If I take pictures of what he wants," Bucky further explains.

Neither of them are expecting Steve's mom to walk forward and wrap Bucky up in a hug. "Mom!" he complains, embarrassed at the unusual display of emotion from her.

"Thank you," she says, clearly ignoring Steve's protest. Bucky's cheeks are red when she pulls back, which is at least funny enough to override Steve's embarrassment.

"Sure," Bucky mutters, looking anywhere but at either of them.

With that, Bucky is ushered further into the house, and Steve talks about his drawings and the kind of pictures he needs, and Bucky listens intently, and Steve doesn't know for sure yet but he thinks that he might have found a best friend.

As soon as Bucky tells Steve what he is. The guy still only smirks whenever Steve asks. Fine, then. Steve can figure it out on his own. Bucky figured him out, after all. It's only fair.


End file.
